


one, two, three, four

by theundiagnosable



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 18:11:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2702417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Guys, meet Detective...” “Santiago. Amy Santiago.” (or: How Jake and Amy Become Jake And Amy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	one, two, three, four

Jake makes it approximately halfway through the front doors of the precinct - this, all things considered, is something of an achievement, considering how drunk he is at the moment. He would probably make it all the way in, too, if he didn't crash directly into the woman trying to leave.

(Spoiler alert: it’s all downhill from here.)

Knocked off balance, he teeters on his feet before the woman grabs his elbows, steadying him with what looks like an instinctive reaction.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Jake slurs, then blinks firmly, doing a double take. She - the woman that he bumped into - is a couple inches shorter than him, hair pulled back in a neat bun and wearing... a pantsuit? Are those cool again?

"Yeah, no problem. Probably my fault." She smiles, quick and polite, and their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds before she very visibly realizes that she's still holding his arms and lets go like she's been shocked. "Sorry," she says, and Jake shakes his head, waving her off.

"Nah. Definitely was your fault, though."

Now it's her turn to look surprised. "Excuse me?"

"You were definitely the one who bumped into me," explains Jake. "You're a reckless walker."

Before it can occur to Jake to be embarrassed ( _Reckless walker? Seriously, Peralta?_ ), the woman smiles, like she can't help herself. Jake swells with pride, and she meets his eyes knowingly. "Just how drunk are you?"

"Like, an eight, probably. Eight-point-five. Won't go higher than a nine."

"Out of ten?"

"Yup."

She nods appreciatively. "Nice."

Jake grins and, spurred by the copious amounts of alcohol in his system, swaggers slightly forward. "I haven't seen you around here before."

The woman shrugs, hint of a smile teasing at her lips. "I don't really make a habit of hanging around outside police precincts at eleven o'clock at night."

"My bad luck, I guess." He shrugs, purposefully nonchalant, and the woman laughs. It's a bright, clear sound, like bells or angels or something equally cliched, and it changes her face completely; for the first time since Jake'd bumped into her, she looks completely relaxed.

"You're kind of terrible at this."

"This?" He narrows his eyes, not understanding.

"Flirting."

"Ah," Jake says teasingly. "So we're flirting now, are we?"

Unperturbed, she shrugs. "You are. I'm shutting you down politely because you're pretty much smashed out of your mind."

"Huh." Jake muses. "If I wasn't so drunk, I'd have a really good comeback right now. I'm Jake, by the way. Jake Peralta."

"Hi, Jake," says the woman, "I'm not interested."

"Hi Not Interested. Weird name. I still like you, though." He says brightly, and pantsuit lady still doesn't look impressed. Fair enough - she doesn't seem the type to be particularly attracted to mostly-drunk cops who crash into people outside of police stations.

"If you need to see an officer," she says, "there's a whole precinct-"

"Woah, woah, woah," Jake cuts in, caught off guard. "I don't need to see - _I'm_ a police officer. I work here."

She looks him up and down, taking in his rumpled shirt and mussed hair with just enough thinly veiled disapproval to make him feel like he's in the principal's office. "Sure you are." Her tone makes it plainly clear that she doesn't believe him for a second.

"No, really!" He protests. "I'm only drunk because I was at this goodbye party at the bar down the street and I forgot my house keys so my friend had to drive me back here to get them. His name's Charles." Jake rambles on, pausing to point in the general direction where he thinks he left Boyle waiting in the car. "Kind of a waste of an evening, to be honest. Couldn't even drink that much in front of the boss, you know how it is."

Come to think of it, Jake doesn't even think Captain McGinley had been at the bar. The man probably doesn't even know that Lee’s leaving.

"Right," the woman says, now completely withdrawn from the conversation and halfway out the door. "I'm sure someone'll help you inside."

"But..." Jake sighs. He knows how to take a hint. "Gotcha."

It doesn't occur to him until later, once he's retrieved his keys and been dropped off at home by a mostly-sober Boyle, to question who pantsuit lady was or why she was leaving the precinct so late at night. At that, he doesn't dwell on it too much - the whole encounter had lasted all of two minutes, and he's still drunk enough that marathoning Criminal Minds seems like a good thing to prioritize.

( _Reckless walker_ , though - it's a good thing he's never going to see this chick again, because that's probably the single lamest thing he's ever said, ever.)

+++++

He collapses into his usual seat in the briefing room, leaning forward and resting his head on the table with a loud groan.

"Jesus, Peralta," Rosa complains from behind him (and he can practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Who died?"

"My dignity." Jake says morosely. "And any chance there ever was of me going drinking with you people ever again."

"Let me guess," Terry chimes in from the front of the room, looking like he's just returned from a spa retreat rather than a night at a skeezy bar. "Huge tab at the bar?"

"Mmhmm."

"Got rejected by a hot girl?"

Jake sighs. "Super rejected."

"Terrible hangover?"

Jake sits up and, getting a glimpse of his bloodshot eyes for the first time, Terry winces and answers his own question. "Yep. _Really_ terrible hangover."

"Don't worry, Jake," Charles says comfortingly, "I still think you're very handsome."

"Thanks, Charles. At least _someone,_ " Jake shoots an accusing glance toward Terry, "knows how to be supportive."

Rosa scoffs as Terry shakes his head fondly, shuffling the papers in his hands and moving to the podium. He glances over Jake's head to the back of the room, like he's still giving Captain McGinley the chance to defy all reasonable odds and show up for the briefing. It's almost sweet.

"Alright, guys, let's get started." Terry opens the files he holds and scans the page. Sometimes, Jake feels bad for the guy - he's virtually captaining the precinct by himself. "Diaz, update on the Hendrix murder?"

Jake zones out as Rosa gives the run down on her latest case. Rubbing his eyes, he frowns. Something is different. Still half-listening to Rosa, he looks around the briefing room, trying to find whatever it is that's changed. Scully and Hitchcock are lurking by the coffee machine, Rosa's behind him, Boyle's next to her, Sarge is at the front of the room, and in the desk in front of Jake is- Oh. That's what's weird.

He'd forgotten that Detective Lee is gone, off to reap the benefits of his promotion to Major Crimes. Jake stares at the empty desk where Lee sat for the past three years, and frowns.

"Hey, Sarge," Jake calls as Rosa finishes. "Isn't Lee's replacement supposed to come in today?"

Terry nods. "That's what I was just going to talk about, actually. She should be here any minute."

"She?" Rosa asks, sounding the closest she's come to caring about something since they'd arrested that crack addict in a ball gown. "We're finally getting another girl detective? Sweet."

"What's the matter, Rosa?" Jake drawls lazily, leaning back on the legs of his chair to stare at her. "Our company isn't good enough for you?"

She shakes her head decisively. "Too much testosterone. And penises. Seriously, the bathroom says 'ladies' for a reason." She raises her voice and directs the last comment toward Scully and Hitchcock, who shrug innocently.

"Look, guys," interrupts Terry, "I just want to make sure that we avoid another incident like last time, with the temp."

Jake vaguely remembers the woman in question, who'd left in tears after Boyle had thrown out her lunch, declaring it an abomination.

"She mixed prosciutto with salami on whole grain! Who does that?" Charles protests, and Terry fixes him with a stern look before turning his gaze on Rosa.

"Or the intern from the local high school?"

Rosa rolls her eyes. "He scratched my bike. He deserved what happened to him."

"What about Detective Bell?"

Jake frowns. "Who?"

"Exactly." Terry sighs. "I'm not saying that you guys are bad at accepting new people, but... well, you're all irredeemably bad at accepting new people."

Jake stands up, hitting the table like a lawyer in a bad courtroom drama. "Objection! We're great at accepting anyone who comes to the precinct. The problem is them - they're always bad at accepting _us_."

"Is that so?" Terry raises an eyebrow pointedly.

"Uh, yeah! We have a very specific way of doing things around here, and people come in and try to change that. It's not our fault that they can't handle it. Right?"

"Right!" Boyle backs him up enthusiastically.      

"Right!" Jake stares up at the sergeant beseechingly. "C'mon, Sarge. As long as the new girl doesn't try to shake things up-"

"Or scratch my bike."

"-or scratch Diaz's bike," Jake concedes, "I'm sure she'll fit in just fine. Nothing has to change." He finishes, perching on the top of his table with a self-satisfied grin. He watches Terry, waiting for some kind of a response. And waiting. And waiting.

The larger man is frozen, eyes wide and fixated on a point behind Jake's head. It occurs to Jake that the rest of the briefing room as fallen silent as well. Slightly concerned now, Jake turns his head to see what's catching everyone's attention. His jaw drops open.

"Captain." Jake wonders if this is all a dream, and he's still passed out on his couch - McGinley never leaves his office unless it's for a bathroom break; let alone early enough to attend a morning briefing. At this point, Jake figures that the options are limited to either a hostile takeover of the rest of the precinct or nuclear war.

"Captain McGinley!" Terry bounds down from the podium, smiling hugely. "Welcome to the briefing, sir. What brings you here today?"

McGinley blinks. "Detective... um... the one who left. His replacement's here. She asked me to introduce her to the team." Even as the words leave his mouth, the man looks stunned, as though he can't believe that someone would expect him to perform such an arduous task.

"That's great!" Enthuses Terry, and holds out a hand to a second person who'd evidently followed McGinley into the room, unnoticed and obscured from Jake's line of sight by the captain's bulk.

"Welcome to the nine-nine, Detective..."

"Santiago," says a perky and vaguely familiar voice. "Detective Amy Santiago." 

The name doesn't ring a bell, but Jake cranes his neck, stretching to see the new member of the team. It proves unnecessary, because she steps out from behind the captain, looking around the room with an eager smile and giving them all their first look at her.

Or second.

Jake recognizes her at the same moment that she recognizes him.

"Pantsuit lady?" He says, getting to his feet and staring at her in confusion. "You're pantsuit detective?"

"And you weren't lying." The woman - Santiago, Jake corrects - looks taken aback. "You really are a cop."

"Surprise." Jake tries, pretty pathetically, if he's being honest.

From the back of the room, next to the captain, Terry looks from Jake to Santiago and back again. "You two know each other?"

"No." Says Santiago firmly, at the very same moment that Jake says "yes". He shoots her a somewhat offended glance, but she's focused on the captain and the sergeant. Jake takes the opportunity to stare at her. Her posture is good. Like, freaky good. And she's still wearing a pantsuit.

(And, says a tiny part of Jake's brain that he tries very hard to ignore, he doesn't like her face any less when he's not drunk.)

"We met last night," Santiago explains, "very briefly."

"Oh," says Terry, then meets Jake's eyes and seems to realize something. "Oh! Is she the one that you tried to-"

"So, Detective Santiago!" Jake practically shouts, shooting Terry a pointed glare. "What brings you to the nine-nine this fine evening?"

She frowns, edging away from him. "I work here now. Also, it's nine o'clock. AM." With that, she turns her back on Jake and addresses Terry. "I'm so sorry to be late to the briefing, sir. I thought that I'd drop in to see the Captain - I'd already met the night shift yesterday, and I thought I'd like to get a head start on getting to know everyone at the precinct, since we're going to be a team from now on." She smiles winningly, and Rosa snickers from behind her.

Terry, on the other hand, is smiling brightly, obviously excited at the prospect of a detective that's willing to come into her workplace before she even technically works there. "Well, Detective, we are happy to have you. I think you'll fit in quite nicely." He says pointedly, with a minute glance toward Jake that everyone knows is a warning to be on his best behaviour.

"Boyle, why don't you show Santiago to her desk?" Charles stands up at once, clapping Jake on the shoulder as he passes him to escort the new girl out of the room. Knowing Boyle, she'll probably end up with a tour of the entire place and more knowledge about everyone's personal issues than she ever could've wanted.

The squad is quiet as the two of them leave, and Captain McGinley, who has been hovering uncomfortably in the doorway, mumbles a vague excuse about needing to go check on something in his office.

"So," Terry says, once he's sure that they're gone. "What do you guys think?"

"Seems like a nerd." Rosa says flatly. "A nerd in a pantsuit."

"That's what I said!" Jake lights up. "It's weird, right?"

Rosa stands up, shooting Jake a skeptical look as she leaves the room. "You're not allowed to comment. You wear denim jackets."

"That was one time!" Jake shouts after her retreating back. When she doesn't respond, he decides to cut his losses. "How 'bout that pantsuit, though, Sarge?"

"You know, Jake, if you two are going to be partners, you're going to need to get over your issues with her wardrobe."

Jake scoffs noncommittally, preparing to leave the briefing room, when it hits him. He spins on his heel and stares at Terry urgently. "Wait. What did you say?"

“You need to get over your issues with-”

Jake waves him off dismissively. “No, not that. The thing before that. The thing that sounded a hell of a lot like ‘you two are going to be partners’.”

“Oh, that.” Terry smiles. “Since Lee left and you’re flying solo, Detective Santiago is your new partner.”

“Like, forever, or-”

“Like,” Terry begins, like he's enjoying himself just a bit too much, “for as long as the captain decides that you two are going to be partners.”

“But-” Jake nearly protests, but Terry raises an eyebrow by a fraction of an inch, reminding Jake of their previous discussion about being welcoming. Well, crap – he’s worked himself into a hell of a corner now, hasn’t he? If he argues, he’s proving that he can’t work with a new person. If he doesn’t, then he’ll have to go out there and be partnered with the woman that he embarrassed himself in front of last night.

Jake makes a face like he’s swallowing something sour. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

(He gives it a week, tops.)

+++++

Jake sits at his desk and watches as Detective Santiago moves in across from him. It’s a painstakingly slow process – she lines up her pencil holders, stapler, and hole puncher in precise order on the edge of her desk, and that’s when Jake knows that this isn’t going to work out.

“So,” he says, clapping his hands and making her jump and give him a reproachful stare, “what do I need to know about you, other than the fact that you brought a hole puncher to a job where literally no one has ever used a hole puncher?”

Santiago shrugs, pausing in her meticulous desk set up. “I was an officer with the sixty-fourth and when my captain heard that the nine-nine needed someone new, she recommended me for the promotion.”

“Promotion?” Jake echoes, toying with her stapler absently. “As in you were just promoted to detective?”

Santiago snatches the stapler from him and straightens it on her desk, now looking defensive. “So what?”

“They gave me a rookie as a partner. This is great.” Jake laughs, and the new girl reddens.

“First of all,” Santiago says, “I’m not a rookie – we have the same rank. Secondly, you really don’t have to haze me, or whatever it is you’re doing.” Jake raises an eyebrow, feigning interest, and she continues. “I’m a good detective. I can handle this.”

“No one said you couldn’t.”

“You implied it.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. Very heavily.”

Jake puts his hands up in surrender, leaning back in his chair. He doesn’t stop watching her, mostly because he knows that it’s annoying her. To her credit, she doesn’t pay him any attention. This bothers Jake – what’s the point of having a desk buddy if you can’t get a reaction out of them when you’re bored?

From across the room, Terry calls, “Hey, Peralta, break in at the deli at Eighth and Queen. You and Santiago want to go check it out?”

Jake opens his mouth to respond, but Santiago beats him to it.

“On it, sir.” She’s out of her seat as fast as if someone had shocked her, talking nearly just as quickly to Jake. “We can take my car – or yours, I don’t care; oh, but we should probably hurry so that none of the evidence is compromised. I can run out and start the car, if you want-”

“Woah,” Jake holds up a hand to stop her, head spinning. He takes his time getting out of his seat and grabbing his gun despite the fact that Santiago is virtually bouncing up and down beside him. “Okay, first thing’s first, we always take my car, because my car is awesome. Also...” He pauses pointedly, because she’s _really_ close to him, watching enthusiastically.

“Oh.” She gives a breathy, slightly embarrassed laugh and steps back. “Sorry. This is my first case as an official detective. Kind of freaking out. Woo!”

Jake tries his best not to smile, but doesn’t exactly pull it off. “Yeah, well... let’s go, rookie.”

“Still not a rookie!” She corrects, practically skipping out of the precinct.

After a second, Jake follows her. As he passes Terry’s desk, the other man grabs his arm, stopping him. “Watch out for her, Jake. Be nice.”

“Relax, Sarge.” Jake waves off his concerns. “It’ll be fine. I have the most arrests in the precinct, no newbie can throw me off.”

Terry sighs. “Just... don’t take all the credit. Give her a chance to solve something.”

“Sure, I’m sure there’s plenty of evidence that needs bagging.”

“Jake...”

Jake’s already out the door, not wanting to give Santiago the chance to hotwire his car to get to the crime scene; which, from what he knows at this point, he wouldn’t put past her. “See you later, Sarge!”  

It might not be so bad to have a new partner, he thinks, juggling his car keys in his hand. At the very least, it’s a new person to admire his super awesome badass detective work. A couple of great solves, and she’ll forget all about the “reckless walking” comment. (It’s official – he’ll never stop being embarrassed by that.)

Maybe, he decides in a momentary spur of goodwill, he’ll even let her question the store owner.

+++++

He leaves her alone at the crime scene for all of five minutes, and when he gets back she has not only arrested the criminal (the owner, insurance fraud), but has confiscated over ninety thousand dollars in stolen cash and discovered the money laundering ring operating out of the shop’s basement.

All Jake can do is gape incredulously as she escorts the man and his accomplices into the holding cell at the precinct. Rosa stands next to him and watches approvingly.

“You probably feel pretty stupid, huh?”

“Wow, Diaz. Not even a little bit helpful.” Jake pouts, watching as Terry shakes Santiago’s hand, gleeful at the prospect of his new wunderkind. “Also, for your information, I feel fine. No point in being jealous of beginner’s luck.”

+++++

Two days later, when Santiago arrests the guy that’s been stealing puppies for months, Jake starts to worry.

“Don’t worry,” says Boyle comfortingly as Jake wonders if he’s a bad person for hating someone that’s laughing in a crowd of grateful children and puppies. “Second best cop in the precinct is still good.”

“You talking about the new girl?” Asks Scully, who’s evidently been listening to their conversation from behind them. “She stayed ‘til midnight yesterday to help that teacher who got mugged. Talk about a great cop!”

Santiago, still being engulfed by puppies (that Jake totally could have found, if he’d had just a couple more minutes) looks up and notices them looking at her. She waves happily, beckoning them forward.

Boyle, the dirty, rotten traitor, immediately abandons Jake in favor of the puppies. Jake tries really hard, but can’t quite fault him for it. Instead, he scowls and turns away, stomping back to his desk. (He pretends that he doesn’t see the hurt look on Santiago’s face.)

+++++

Everything goes to hell two weeks after the puppy incident.

Jake walks into work five minutes late, mumbling a greeting to Santiago, already hard at work across from him. (By this point, she’s already more than quadrupled Scully and Hitchcock’s combined arrests of the past year. Not that he’s counting.) He’s just opening his bag to take out the arrest reports that he brought home when he realizes what he just saw and does a double take: Santiago is holding a case file. A new one. One that he’s never seen.

“What’s that?” He asks, all thoughts of arrest reports forgotten. Santiago looks up from her reading, meeting his eyes over the top of the file.

“What’s what?” Jake nods toward the yellow folder in her hands, and Santiago shrugs. “Oh. New case. Someone stole a painting from this gallery uptown, I think it’s called-”

“Are you supposed to brief me on it, or is Sarge?”

Santiago flips through the file, oblivious to the edge in Jake’s voice. “Actually, I think I was supposed to take this one by myself.” With that, she goes back to her reading, toying with the cap of her pen as she does so; either not noticing or not caring about the fact that Jake is making a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat.

This has to be a mistake. Rookies don’t get first dibs on high profile cases like art theft, like, _ever_.

“Why-” Jake starts and stops, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. “Why wouldn’t they ask me?”

“I mean, I studied art history, so-”

“Of course you did.” Jake rolls his eyes, cutting off Santiago’s explanation and staring resentfully at the stack of petty theft cases on his own desk. This – his new partner, the case, everything – is all wrong. He’s the best cop in the precinct, for crying out loud. _You **were** the best cop, _his mind supplies totally unhelpfully. _Until-_

“Peralta, are you alright?” Santiago’s staring at Jake from behind the file, which she’s holding up like a shield. “Your face is like, really red.” Her eyes widen. “Do you have a family history of heart problems? Because my first aid certification expired last weekend and they won’t let me retake the course until Friday night – oh, I _told_ them they should run weeknight classes, I knew something like this would-”

“I’m fine.” Jake says, voice about an octave higher than usual. “I’m great. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m being replaced by a rookie. No big deal. It’s all good.”

Santiago sets down the file, sighing and looking at Jake with something almost like pity. “Do you have a problem with me, Peralta?”

“Whatever gives you that idea?”

 “You’ve barely made eye contact for two weeks, you introduce me to suspects as ‘the newbie’, and, at the moment, it looks like you’re having a heart attack.” She caps her pen, continuing, “I don’t know if this is about you being embarrassed, but you don’t seem to want me to do my job – a job that, by the way, I am just as qualified as you to do.”

“Embarrassed?” Jake interrupts with a humorless laugh. “Enlighten me, what do I have to be embarrassed about?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that you refuse to accept anyone who works any differently than yourself? Or, going back a little bit earlier, when you outrageously – and unsuccessfully, might I add – hit on me outside the precinct?”

Jake scoffs. “Okay, well, if we’re going to point out each other’s flaws, I might as well mention that there’s a difference between working differently and steamroller-ing over everyone else and the way they do their jobs.”

“Steamroller-ing is not a verb.” 

“Well, it should be, because that’s what you’ve been doing since day one.”

Santiago gapes at him incredulously. “What have I ever done to you?”

“Hm, let’s see.” Jake tilts his head, feigning deep thought. He’s gotten louder, now, and can see Boyle and Rosa exchange a glance over at their desks. “You solve cases without giving me a chance, you kiss up to the captain, and now you steal the biggest case of the month right out from under me.”

“I didn’t ask for this case,” Santiago argues. “Sergeant Jeffords gave it to me, probably because he thought that I was the best person for the job. If you can’t accept that, it’s on you, not me.”

Jake laughs, loudly and mockingly. “Well, Detective Egomania, if I was ever even briefly attracted to you-”

“Which you were.”

“-then that ended the second you started talking.”

“Why, should I dumb it down a little so it’s easier for you to understand?” Santiago shoots back. “Jealous much?”

“ _Wrong,_ much?”

They glare at each other for a few long moments. If this was a movie, this would be the part where they angrily make out for a while on top of the desks – as it is, though, she picks up the case file, tosses her hair, and goes back to reading as if nothing had happened. Jake glowers at her for a few moments longer before grabbing the file closest to him and doing the same, spinning his chair so that his back is to her.

(The file that he grabs turns out to be a case of public nudity; complete with extremely high definition pictures of the offender in all of his hairy-genitaled glory. So, yeah, it’s official, the universe is conspiring to ruin his life.)

Jake makes up his mind, right then and there: Amy Santiago has to go. Not because he’s jealous, because that would be ridiculous, but because she obviously thinks that this whole partnership is somehow below her. All he needs to do is find her weakness, exploit it, and send her running. Piece of cake.

Somehow, despite the file full of dick pics in his hands, Jake feels better.

She won’t last a week.

+++++

(Also, when she leaves to go to lunch, he removes all of the screws from her hole puncher so that it falls apart in her hands. Take that, universe.)

+++++

“She has no weaknesses!”

Striding across the bar, Jake collapses into the booth across from Rosa and Charles, who pause mid-conversation to look at him with concern and, in Rosa’s case, mild disdain.

“What are you talking about, Peralta?”

“Santiago!” Jake lowers his voice to a whisper even though they all know that Santiago doesn’t come to the bar on weeknights, hissing, “She isn’t human.”

Rosa groans. “Tell me you aren’t still hung up on this.”

Boyle looks back and forth from Jake to Rosa, confused. “Hung up on what? Santiago not being human?”

“No, Boyle, don’t be an idiot.” Rosa rolls her eyes, explaining, “Jake thinks that if he finds Santiago’s weakness he can… I don’t know, vanquish her? What’s your plan here, Peralta?”

“I don’t even know any more.” Jake says, stealing one of Boyle’s fries and hoping he looks morose enough to get away with it. He certainly feels like it. “Probably doesn’t matter anyways, because she was genetically engineered to be a perfect cop. And to ruin my life.” He bites the fry, and Boyle pats his back sympathetically.

“Nobody’s perfect, Peralta. There’s got to be something wrong with her.”

Jake shakes his head, widening his eyes and grabbing another fry that he gestures with wildly. “That’s what I thought back when I was young and hopeful, but it has been almost a month and I have nothing. Seriously, I told her to individually bag every joint we found at the party bust last week, and she not only did that, but labeled them alphabetically by brand. Then I tried to break her by giving her all of the paperwork from every case we’ve worked so far.”

“And?”

“She finished in four hours and asked for more! Because,” Jake raised the pitch of his voice into a mousey squeak, imitating Santiago’s voice, “organization is fun!” He sighs, slumping down in his seat dejectedly. “She hasn’t made one mistake. McGinley should just give her the captain’s office now.”

Jake grabs a large handful of fries, because subtlety be damned, he really needs to eat away his feelings right now. For a few moments, the only sound is his chewing, then Boyle breaks the silence, asking tentatively, “Why exactly do you care so much?”

“I-” Jake stops himself, frowning. “I guess… look, Boyle, it’s the principal of the thing. She can’t just walk into our precinct and be the best. She has to have some kind of weakness, or flaw, or something. She has to.” He reaches for some more fries, but Rosa yanks the plate out of his reach, ignoring his pleas.

“You’re hopeless.” She says flatly. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe her weakness is the same as yours?”

Caught off guard, Jake splutters. “Um, no, Rosa, because I have approximately negative forty-thousand things in common with _Lame-_ y Santiago.” She still looks skeptical (well, Jake thought that pun was funny, so there), so he turns to Boyle pleadingly. “Back me up here, Charles.”

The shorter man looks like a deer in headlights. “Sorry, Jakey.”

Rosa’s looking much more smug than she should, and, Jake reflects glumly, this has definitely not been his week. He leans back in his seat, eyeing the fries longingly. With a sigh, Rosa relents and slides them back to Boyle, who immediately passes them to a grateful Jake.

“I got to go,” Rosa says. “Good luck figuring out your pointless problems.” She takes one last swig of her drink, sliding out of the booth and preparing to leave. Jake and Boyle watch, not saying anything until she starts to walk away, when Jake calls after her.

“Hey, Rosa-”

She looks back, and Jake hesitates. “I’m not saying that you’re right, but just out of curiosity… what weakness are you talking about?”

Rosa meets his eyes, and manages to look almost affectionate. Of course, there’s a good chance that it might just be annoyance. (It’s probably annoyance.) Whatever the case, she smiles. “You’re a detective. You figure it out.”

Diaz, for all of her downright frightening qualities, usually gives good advice, so Jake tries to listen. Once he’s back at his place, he lies on the couch and stares at the ceiling, thinking hard. _Figure it out._ But how?

At once, Jake sits bolt upright.

He’s been overlooking the problem – stressing himself out over finding Santiago’s weakness. But that’s just a means to an end, isn’t it? What he really needs to figure out is how to stop being partners with her. That’s what he really wants, and, if he guesses correctly, what Santiago wants as well.

Weakness or not, he can work with that.

+++++

“Right,” Jake starts as he arrives at his desk the next morning, all business. “Listen up.”

“Excuse me?” Santiago’s eyes flash furiously, and Jake holds up his hands defensively.

“Sorry, sorry. But seriously, listen.” He leans across his desk, beckoning her closer and whispering so that none of the others will hear them. “I have an idea.”

“I’m happy for you,” Santiago says, dripping with false sincerity and preparing to pull back. “I, on the other hand, have a desk full of work to do, since my partner can’t bring himself to split the workload. So, if you’ll pardon me-”

“What if I told you that this idea involves us never having to work another case together?”

Santiago stops and meets his eyes. “I’m listening.”

+++++

They put the plan into action that afternoon.

Terry enters the break room for lunch at 11:30, and Jake coughs to catch Santiago’s attention.

“You got this?”

She nods, rising from her desk and grabbing the brown bag lunch that she brings most days. “I got this.”              

“Just be cool,” Jake counsels, and she doesn’t bother with a response, shooting him a withering glare and following Terry into the break room. It’s the perfect plan, if he does say so himself: If Jake asks for a new partner, the sergeant will laugh in his face. If his new protégé asks, however… Goodbye stony silences, hello flying solo and regaining his unofficial title as best cop in the precinct. Jake waits impatiently at his desk, not wanting to risk peeking into the break room and revealing that he’s in on the plan.

Ten minutes later, Santiago returns. Her lunch is untouched, and it’s immediately evident by the way she sinks into her seat that the plan failed.

“Well?” Jake prompts, and she sighs.

“I asked for the switch, told him that it wasn’t working out.”

“But…”

“But he asked me if you put me up to it. Said that I shouldn’t let you get to me and that he has faith in our partnership.”

“Damn it,” Jake curses, kicking the underside of his desk. “How could he say no to you? You’re his favourite.” Santiago looks down with a small smile, and Jake hastens to add, “Other than me, of course.”

“Of course.” Santiago rolls her eyes, picking a file up from her desk and leaving to talk to Diaz. “Get back to me when you have a better plan.”

“Oh, I will.” Jake says, more to himself than to her. “It’s time for phase two.”

+++++

Phase two fails horribly.

It’s kind of a convoluted plan, to be fair, but Jake’d really thought that they’d had a shot with this one. Boyle’s supposed to complain to Captain McGinley that Jake and Amy’s bickering is disruptive to the rest of the precinct – and it’s not a lie, not really – and the captain’s supposed to split them up for the good of the team. Not even one of those things goes according to plan: Boyle enters the captain’s office to find him asleep with cucumber slices on his eyes, and neither Jake nor Santiago wants to risk waking him up.

“Quickly realizing that plans are not your strong point,” Santiago hisses, and Jake pulls a face.

“Relax, rookie. I’ve got an entire alphabet of plans up here.” He taps his temple knowingly, and Santiago doesn’t bother arguing, though he could swear that he hears her mutter ‘idiot’ under her breath.

+++++

Okay, fine. He’ll admit it. The alphabet of plans in his head is pretty much just letters A to F, and all of these plans crash and burn. That’s how, one Friday night, he ends up sitting at the bar with none other than Amy Santiago, trying and mostly failing to come up with an alternative solution.

“How about this,” he starts grandly, peeling at the label on his bottle of beer, “we volunteer for a psych evaluation and get the psychologist to say that our partnership is toxic and dangerous to our sanity.”

“Where’s the lie?” Santiago quips, eyeing him with a look that, if he didn’t know better, Jake would swear is humour.

“Okay, what if we fake a car accident and get someone to forge a death certificate for you-”

Santiago interrupts, affronted. “Woah, woah, woah – why am I the one getting fridged?”

“Because, Santiago, with my vivacious personality no one would believe for a second that something like a car accident could kill me. Now, if we had the budget for an explosion in a house full of supermodels…”

“Do you ever hear anything you say, or does your brain just kind of tune out?”

Jake pulls a face. “Talk all you want, oh great detective, but I don’t see you coming up with any better plans.”

Santiago shifts defensively in her seat, stirring her coke with her straw. “It’s not like I’ve ever had to ditch a partner before – I’m kind of off-roading it here.”

“I never would have guessed.”

She shoots him a pointed look, but then looks away and sighs, like she’s thought better of it. Like she’s tired. “I hope they’re not all like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I get a new partner. I hope things are different. Better.”

Jake traces the grain of the wooden bar top, slightly uncomfortable. “It probably will be. I mean, we’ll never be able to cooperate, but it’s not you-”

“Don’t you dare ‘it’s not you, it’s me’-me right now.”

“What I was going to say,” Jake continues, side-eyeing her into letting him continue, “is that I don’t think it’s you. Sure as hell isn’t me, either. I think it’s just…”

“Us?”

“Yeah,” says Jake, “that.”

Neither speaks for a few moments, until Jake breaks the silence.

“What if we burn down the records room so no one will know that we’ve been assigned to be partners?”

Santiago blinks, caught off guard, then meets his eyes. Neither can help but laugh, and it’s incredibly awkward but… not entirely bad, either? (And there’s a joke here, somewhere, two cops walk into a bar and and and-)

(“Is that a yes to the burning?”

“Shut up, Peralta.”)

+++++

He’s been a cop for long enough to know that if he ever needs any administrative paperwork done, the NYPD administrative department is the very last place to turn. He has a theory, in fact, that the entire department is nothing but a myth, an urban legend like bigfoot or paying credit card bills on time.

It’s a sign of how desperate Jake is getting when, after three more failed plans, he fills out an official form requesting a partner change and drops it off at the captain’s office for approval so it can be sent to the admin people, if they even exist. He doesn’t have high hopes, but still – it’s something.

He doesn’t mention it to Santiago; if she finds out that there’s an official way to ditch him, she’ll probably make him camp out outside the police commissioner’s office until the request is personally approved.

+++++

A week later, they knock at the door of a suspected robber’s apartment only for the man to sprint past them, making a run for it. Santiago starts to pursue him, but seized with a sudden idea, Jake grabs her arm and stops her in her tracks.

She whirls on him furiously, shoving him off of her. “What the hell are you doing, Peralta? He’s getting away, we need to-”

“We know where he’s going.” Jake says, catching his balance on the wall beside him as she shakes her head incredulously.

“Excuse me?”

“We know that he’s going to go meet his partner. We can catch him later.”

“Oh, you mean after he’s stolen another couple thousand dollars worth of jewelry? That later?” Santiago asks, raising her eyebrows in complete and utter disbelief.

“Maybe. It doesn’t matter, just think- what’ll happen if we let him go?”

“What are you talking about?”

“ _Think,_ _Santiago._ ”

Santiago throws her hands up in the air, the picture of exasperation. “A criminal goes free and we fail at doing our – oh. _Oh_.”

“And we have a winner.” Jake deadpans, mentally patting himself on the back for his genius idea. “This guy’s not dangerous to the public, but he is a significant loss for us. If our partnership is holding us back from doing our jobs, they’ll have no other option-”

“-but to split us up,” Santiago finishes, pacing the hall next to him. “Crap. That’s actually almost smart.”

“It happens.” Jake quips, and watches her as she fidgets with the loose thread on the end of her sleeve. “It’s probably not too late to go after him, if you don’t-”

“No,” says Santiago, like his hesitation has made up her mind. “No, this is a good plan.”

“Okay.” Jake puts his badge back into his jacket, and starts to walk toward the elevator. “We should head back to the precinct now.”

“Yeah, okay.” Says Santiago, then, so abruptly that Jake lets out a shout of shock, she spins and punches him right in the shoulder.

“Um, ow!?” Jake gapes, and she glowers at him.

“If you _ever_ compromise my ability to do my job again, if you ever do something like that without telling me first, I will literally kill you.” She looks him right in the eye, and he steps back under the force of her gaze.

“Sorry.” He says, and thinks that he might even mean it. “Really.”

“Good.” Santiago says, and, as if nothing happened, walks toward the elevator. She doesn’t punch Jake again when he falls into step next to her, which he takes as a good sign.

It’s not until they’re in the elevator, on their way to the building’s foyer, that she speaks again.

“Oh my god,” she says. “That was so illegal.”

“Don’t worry,” Jake consoles. “I think there’s a good chance that you’ll last longer than me in jail.”

“I _know_ there’s a good chance that I’ll last longer than you in jail.” Their eyes meet, and they almost smile (but not quite) and even though the spot on his shoulder where she punched him still hurts, Jake thinks that for once, his plan might actually work.

Twenty minutes later, they enter the precinct and from the look that Rosa gives him, Jake feels a lot like he’s doing the walk of shame after a one night stand with, like, an eighty year old moose wrangler from Canada. Except, of course, for the fact that for some bizarre reason, Amy Santiago and the rest of his coworkers are also there and he doesn’t even have the benefit of having had sex with any of them.

Upon further thought, he decides to scrap the whole ‘one night stand’ metaphor. It’s not really working for him.

Unaware of his train – or more accurately, train wreck – of thought, Santiago nudges his arm subtly. “Look.”

Terry’s standing up at his desk, frowning and coming towards them. He raises an eyebrow, gesturing at their notable lack of a perp. “What happened, guys? Where’s the jewel thief?”

Jake and Santiago exchange a glance before he launches into the explanation they’d prepared.

“We almost had him, Sarge, but he slipped past us-”

“Slipped past _you_.” Intones Santiago darkly, and the sergeant looks at her questioningly. She straightens with a convincingly indignant glare in Jake’s direction, explaining, “Peralta refused to cover the exit. The guy had a clear path out.”

“Oh, give me a break!” Jake rolled his eyes dramatically. “You could have covered the exit yourself, and I seem to recall a certain someone – hint: it’s me – telling you to do just that.”

Santiago scoffs derisively, planting her hands on her hips. It’s a tad campy, but judging by the look on Terry’s face, he’s buying it. “Like I was going to listen to you.”

“As if _I’d_ ever listen to _you_!”

“I’m not going to listen to either of you!” Terry interrupts before Jake can break out the alphabetical list of her flaws that he’d made up in the car. They stare at Terry, who looks from one to the other, obviously trying to maintain a sense of calm. “It doesn’t matter which one of you did it. It matters that the guy got away, and that’s not what I expect from the two detectives with the most arrests in the precinct.”

And Jake’s prepared himself for this, hell, has experienced this before, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling massively guilty for disappointing Terry. The guy’s practically been running the place for years, and Jake knows that he relies on them. At his side, Amy seems to be thinking the same thing: her eyes are wide and, when they meet Jake’s, they come to an instant, unspoken agreement.

“We messed up, Sarge, and we’re sorry,” says Jake, dropping the façade of anger he’d had in place as Amy nods vehemently in his peripheral vision. “But we know how to fix it.”

“The guy had an accomplice when he robbed that pawn shop, sir, and we know where she lives.” Santiago continues eagerly, and Jake picks up where she leaves off.

“If you’ll just give us a couple of hours, we should be able to bring them both in.”

“And in a way, it’s a good thing, because now neither will be tipped off that we’re coming for them.”

“We’re going to get this guy, is what we’re saying.” Jake finishes.

Somewhere along the line, Terry has started smiling. Jake doesn’t realize this until too late.

“Detectives,’ he says seriously, “I have never been more proud.”

Santiago freezes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Sure, you messed up,” Terry says jovially, “but you’re owning up to it together, dealing with the consequences together, and making it better together. I’m going to be honest,” he says, “I was starting to have my doubts about your partnership, but you proved me wrong.”

Jake stares at the sergeant, wondering if he’s being punk’d and any second now, Ashton Kutcher and a camera crew are going to jump out from under a desk.

 “I knew putting you two together was a good idea.” Terry smiles, wrapping an arm around each of them and pulling them in for a hug that Boyle immediately joins.

 “I don’t mean to get emotional,” Boyle says one hundred percent emotionally, nestling in between Jake and one of the sergeant’s massive biceps, “but I really feel like we’ve bonded today. Rosa, want to join-”

“I’d rather die in a fire.” Rosa says, watching them with a kind of mildly horrified fascination.

Jake thinks he hears Santiago let out a sigh that’s nearly a whimper. Of course, that might just be the sound of any hopes he had of getting a new partner sliding down the toilet.

Probably the second, he reflects, as Scully and Hitchcock join in with what has quickly become the most miserable hug in the history of human existence. He hears the sound of Rosa’s camera clicking in the background, and wonders how long it’ll take for the pictures to end up on the internet, and how long it will take for Santiago to subsequently murder him for yet another failed plan.

He gives it a week.

+++++

Jake’s the only one in the break room when Santiago practically sprints in and slams the door behind her. She locks it, lowers the blinds, and sighs in relief, all without noticing Jake in his position on the couch.

“If you’re going to kill me,” says Jake, “tell me now so I can start yelling for help.”

At the sound of his voice, Santiago jumps, spinning around to face him and demanding, “Jesus, Peralta, what are you doing in here?”

He holds up his bag of chips innocently. “A few minutes ago? Eating lunch. Right about now? Kind of fearing for my life.” Santiago rolls her eyes (so whatever it is, it’s not _that_ serious), and Jake watches as she crosses the room toward him. “What’s going on?”

She collapses onto the other side of the couch. “Hiding from Boyle.”

“Ah.” Jake nods empathetically. “Let me guess – your lunch offended him.’

“I didn’t think there was anything so bad about cold pizza!” Santiago exclaims, widening her eyes. Jake nods his head, grabbing another handful of chips and shoving it in his mouth.

“It’s the best kind,” he agrees while chewing, nearly incomprehensible even to himself.

“Right?" She asks enthusiastically, the neither knows what to say and the room falls silent, save for the occasional rustle of Jake’s bag of chips.

Santiago stands up abruptly. “I’ll go now. Sorry for locking us in like a crazy person.” She moves to walk away but, without thinking, Jake calls her back.

“You don’t have to,” he says, then because she looks pleasantly surprised, hastens to add, “I mean, I don’t care either way. But you can hide here if you want.”

Just as he finishes, the door handle rattles menacingly. Quick as a flash, Santiago drops to the ground, hiding behind the table from anyone who may look inside. Through a space in the lowered blinds, Jake can see Boyle peering in. Jake waves, and Boyle moves on to search the next place.

Once he’s sure that Charles is gone, Jake says, “All clear.”

“Oh, thank god,” Santiago breathes, pulling herself to her feet and perching on the arm of the couch. “Maybe I will stay here for a while. Finish some paperwork.”

“Ugh,” Jake groans, “don’t say the p word. I’ve done so much filing that I forget what outside looks like.”

“Y’know,” Santiago muses, “we all spend more time filing evidence and filling out forms than working cases – it could definitely warrant an administrative assistant. Just a civilian position, but I think it’d be really helpful.”

“Huh.” Jake muses. “That’s… actually not a bad idea. I might even know someone.”

The doorknob rattles again, and this time they both drop to the ground. Crouched like they’re in a tactical training exercise, their eyes meet, and Jake presses his face into his sleeve to avoid laughing out loud. Wordlessly, he holds out his chips, offering her some. She shakes her head, and Boyle’s probably gone but neither moves.

(Jake figures that they’re pretty terrible communicators. He gets the message anyway.)

+++++

“Morning.”

Jake looks up from his computer, which has been restarting for the past five hundred billion years, to see Santiago strolling past him. As usual, she looks perfectly put together despite the early hour; her hair’s in its usual scalp-pulling bun, not a hair out of place.

“Hey,” says Jake, rubbing his eyes and looking at the clock on the wall as his partner takes her seat.

“How was the night shift?” Santiago asks conversationally, but Jake doesn’t respond, distracted by the cup of coffee she’s just placed on his desk.

“What’s this?”

“Coffee.”

“No way!” Jake exclaims, all sarcastic shock and wide eyes. At an unimpressed look from Santiago, he sighs. “I know it’s coffee. Why’s it on my desk?”

Santiago shrugs, and when she speaks it is with the tone of one trying to communicate with a toddler. “I thought you might want a coffee.”

Jake stares stupidly. “For… for what?”

“It’s morning and you just pulled an all-nighter. Do you want the coffee or not?”

“No, yeah, this is good. Thank you.” He adds the thanks at the end as if as an afterthought, still surprised. Santiago waves him off, already focused on opening her bag and sorting through the papers within.

He tries the coffee, and doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or flattered that she got his order right (four sugars, three milks).

It’s weird, though – buying each other coffee is the kind of thing that partners do. Real partners, which they most definitely are not.

“You want to try a new plan to get reassigned today?” Jake asks after a few minutes, just to reaffirm that they hate each other’s guts and this whole ‘doing nice things’ shtick is a one time thing.

Santiago half-smiles, like she pities him. “Sure, Peralta.”

+++++

He buys her a coffee the next day, just to make sure that they’re even now.

While he’s in line at the crowded coffeeshop, Jake considers getting the order wrong on purpose to prove just how very much he isn’t paying attention to her, but decides against it.

She takes the coffee, thanks him, and solves another one of his cold cases in her free time.

And, okay, fine. He might be paying a little bit of attention.

+++++

Twenty-two hours. Twenty-two. Goddamn. Hours.

That’s how long they’ve been at work, trying to figure out where the kidnapped, ten year old daughter of the mayor is being held before the twenty-four hour limit runs out and the kidnappers kill her like they’ve promised.

Jake’s fairly certain that every cop in the city has been called into work, but it’s three in the morning and there’re two hours left on the clock and they still aren’t any closer to finding the girl.

“Okay,” says Boyle determinedly from next to the whiteboard. “Let’s go over the facts one more time. Her parents got the phone call at noon, which is when they notified-”

“Oh, hey, Boyle, I’ve got an idea.”

“Yes, Rosa?”

“Shut up.” Rosa glares at him, and either too tired or too scared to argue, Charles promptly shuts up. Jake spares his friend a sympathetic glance before deciding that the file in front of him is going nowhere, and that he needs a change of scene. He gets up from his seat at the back of the room, stretching sleepily and looking around. The team is scattered around the briefing room, Scully dozing peacefully on Hitchcock’s shoulder. Terry is faintly audible from through the wall, having an intense conversation with someone on the phone. Even Captain McGinley has rolled up the blinds of his office – a gesture that Jake isn’t sure is a particularly good sign in regards to their progress on the case, but still. It’s the thought that counts.

Jake considers sitting next to Rosa, but she’s focused on the blueprints on the table in front of her. Instead, he walks until he’s at the front of the room, looking down on Santiago.

“Hey, rookie.”

She jumps, startled, but realizes it’s him and gives a small, absentminded “hi” before returning to the transcript of the ransom call that she’d evidently been reading. She’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall – as Jake bends down to take a seat beside her, she tilts her head back and squeezes her eyes shut. He can relate to the feeling.

“Long night?”

“Are all kidnappings so…” She trails off and gestures around the room in place of words. Jake shrugs.

“Kinda. They aren’t usually this dramatic, and most don’t involve ten year old kids.” And when he starts speaking, he’s lighthearted and casual, but by the end Jake can’t help but become somber. He hates cases involving kids – the whole thing is just hideously unfair.

(He can still remember his first ever kidnapping case – little boy taken by his estranged mother. They’d found the boy, and the mother had killed herself three days later.)

Judging from the look on her face and her resolute refusal to meet his eyes, Santiago feels the same. Jake waits for her to say something, and she shakes her head.

“I can’t let this girl die.”

“You won’t.”

Santiago raises an eyebrow, turning to look at Jake. “That was… strangely nice.”

“Yeah, well, I’m tired and I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Brain’s not working properly.”

“Still nice, though.” Santiago teases lightly, and Jake stretches out his legs, not looking at her.

“Don’t get used to it.” He grumbles, then remembers why he’d come over to her in the first place. “You have the transcript of the ransom call?”

Santiago picks up a page from the file scattered around her and holds it out to Jake. “Why?”

“Don’t know yet,” he sighs, taking the page and skimming over it absently. “Something about the call is bugging me. Can’t figure out what.”

All things considered, it’s a pretty standard ransom call. Lots of “give us your money or the girl dies”, “don’t contact the police”, that sort of thing. Whoever has made the transcript of the call has also made a note about the noises in the background, like chugging engines and the occasional metallic clang. They’ve canvassed every train or bus station in the city, but nothing’s turned up to confirm their suspicions about the noises.

So here they are.

“It’s the noises,” Jake says, frustrated, “the engines. It’s got to be something obvious, right under our noses.”

Santiago’s eyes light up. “It’s weird that you’d mention that, ‘cause just last night I was reading over some old case files – the eighties were such a rich era in terms of investigative police work-”

“The point, Santiago.”

“Right, sorry. There was this case, a serial killer that was finding his victims in nightclubs. They called him the Disco Strangler.”

“Wow,” says Jake seriously, “that’s so lame it’s actually almost cool.”

“Well, the investigation was at a standstill, no one knew where the murderer was hiding out and bringing his victims, and the papers were crucifying the department. Then this one detective – Hill, or Halt, I forget his name – realized that there was one obvious solution that no one had considered.”

“Which was?”

“The victims never left the night clubs. The Strangler would kill them in the basement. And that’s how they caught him. Right under their noses.” She finishes in a low voice, then blinks and visibly realizes that she’s been completely geeking out.

“Right under their noses,” repeats Jake, and she nods, not really listening.

“If our clue is that obvious-”

“No, Santiago, right under our noses!”

She frowns, looking at him searchingly, and he watches the understanding dawn in her eyes.

“The basement thing?” She leans forward excitedly. “You really think so?”

“Why not? It would explain why the street cams didn’t give us anything.”

“And why the doorman didn’t see her leave the building!” Santiago finishes, and Jake springs to his feet, offering a hand to pull her up beside him. He doesn’t let go of her hand once she’s up, tugging her with him to the table where Rosa’s sitting.

(Then he lets go, because her hand fits perfectly in his and he just does not need to deal with that train of thought right now.)

He snatches the blueprint of the apartment building out from under the arm of Diaz, who lifts her hands up indignantly. “What the hell, Jake-”

“Look,” he says to Santiago, running his finger down the large paper – sure enough, below the condos that he could never afford and the lobby that looks like a palace, there’s another level, labeled in tiny print with ‘no resident access’. “A boiler room,” Jake says, and Santiago gasps, nearly jumping up and down.

“The noises – metal and engines, it’s the furnace!”

Jake spins and meets her eyes, mind racing, and, at the same time, they say, “She never left the building!” He turns toward Charles, who’s been listening intently. “Boyle, call-“

“Already on it,” Charles answers, ear pressed to his phone which is audibly ringing. “There’s a team with the mayor in the apartment, they can go down and check – yes, hello, this is Detective Boyle at the Nine-Nine…”

“Oh, please let us be right,” Santiago pleads under her breath to no one in particular, with a nervous glance at the clock. “Please, please, please…”

A Good Thing: They are.

A Better Thing: After they get the call that the little girl has been found tied to a boiler on the neglected bottom floor, safe if a little banged up, Jake turns around and high fives Santiago enthusiastically. She smiles hugely, and meets Jake’s eyes.

“Nice job, partner.”

“Nice job you.” Jake replies, and Santiago raises an eyebrow.

“That was not even a little bit grammatically correct.”

“Oh,” says Jake, flashing her an equally huge smile, “shut up.”

And just that second, Jake can believe that yeah, maybe they are partners.

(A Terrifying Thing: In just that second, he doesn’t even mind.)

+++++

“I don’t know why you’re so freaked out about this,”

Jake widens his eyes, staring incredulously at Terry, whom he’s cornered in the break room. “I don’t think you understand, Sarge. I talked to Santiago and for a moment there, I actually _liked her._ I’m losing my capacity for rational thought. I’m devolving into an emotionally inept chimpanzee with a sidearm.”

“Peralta,” Terry pours his coffee calmly, “there’s nothing wrong with your partner, and despite what you think, it’s not a bad thing that you’re finally realizing that.”

“Not so loud,” Jake shushes, peeking out from between the blinds on the window to make sure that Santiago is still at her desk, out of earshot. Once he’s sure that she’s out of the way, he continues in a whisper. “Also, let’s not exaggerate here. No one said anything about me realizing anything.” Terry looks unconvinced, and Jake sighs. “Look – is she a nice person? Sure. Great cop? Absolutely. Kind of adorable? God, yes. But that means nothing. I hate her guts.”

“Sure sounds like it,” Terry says, dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm that Jake is too distraught to argue with.

“I need to get a grip.” Jake says. “Quick, punch me in the face.”

“You don’t want me to punch you in the face, Jake, trust me.”

“You’re right,” Jake says, relaxing for the tiniest of seconds before badgering Terry again. “Quick, punch me in the heart.”

Terry, who has been pouring milk into his coffee during the entirety of Jake’s pleas, turns to face him, and for a terrifying second Jake thinks that he’s actually going to punch him in the heart. Instead, Terry places his hands on Jake’s shoulders, looking him right in the eye.

“Listen to me, Jake. You may not want to hear this, but you don’t hate Santiago. The sooner that you accept that, and stop trying to force her to be your sworn enemy, the happier you’ll both be.” He stares Jake down until he drops his gaze, then straightens, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip.

“Now, if that’s everything, I’ve got to go get this report done. Sharon and I are going out for dinner tonight.”

Temporarily distracted, Jake asks, “Newly wedded bliss still treating you alright?”

“I’d say so.” Terry says, sickeningly infatuated. “See you, Peralta.”

Jake waves a hand in a lazy farewell, then looks up, remembering something. “Hey, Sarge.” Terry raises an eyebrow. “Do you think that Santiago and I have the same weakness?”

“Oh yeah.” Terry nods without hesitation. “Definitely.”

“And that weakness would be…”

The other man shrugs, like it’s obvious. “You both want to be the best.”

“Last time I checked, that wasn’t a weakness.”

“It is when it makes you act like an idiot.”

“So… what am I supposed to do?”

Terry smiles, looking far too fatherly for Jake’s liking. “Learn to be idiots together.”

Jake frowns, thinking on the concept for a few seconds before realizing that Terry is still watching him. “Even if I was willing to make nice, what makes you think that she’d be willing to listen?”

“Call it instinct.” Terry says, stirring his coffee knowingly. When Jake still looks confused, Terry shrugs. “You two are either going to be each other’s worst enemies or end up married.”

+++++

On a completely unrelated note, Jake decides that day that Terry is losing his mind and should think about retiring.

+++++

He spends a long time thinking about how to say what he has to say. He’s got to bring it into the conversation naturally and subtly, so she won’t suspect anything. Just like going undercover, he tells himself, and everyone knows he’s the bomb at that.

“Hey,” he says, leaning across the desk to catch Santiago’s attention, “want to go get a drink at the bar later?”

Santiago raises a knowing eyebrow. “Rosa told you to ask me, didn’t she?”

“What?” Jake says in a higher-pitched voice than usual, “No. Pfft – of course not. Why would you say that?”

“Because you’ve been checking the clock every thirty seconds for the past fifteen minutes. Also you never stay late at work. Literally everyone else is gone.” She gestures pointedly at the empty precinct, and yeah, they probably could have thought this out better.

“Damn it,” Jake curses, “I told them this wouldn’t work.”

Santiago meets his eyes, resting her elbows on the desk and leaning on her hands. “What is it that they want me at the bar for?” She asks curiously.

“It’s your four and a half month anniversary at the nine-nine. They’re waiting there to surprise you.”

“Four and a half months?” She frowns. “Is that a thing that people celebrate?”

“Don’t think so,” Jake says, “just something we do. Grab your coat, I’m supposed to get you to the bar by nine.” Santiago does as he says, shrugging into her coat as he gets up from his desk.

“That wasn’t an explanation, you know.” She prompts as they head for the exit. “Why four and a half months?”

Jake shrugs, not letting on how much he enjoys telling the story. “Diaz bet me fifty bucks that I couldn’t get Captain McGinley to give me a week of paid leave. I walked into his office pretending to cry and told him that it was the four and a half month anniversary of my dog’s death.”

“And?” Santiago questions eagerly, and Jake grins.

“Fifty bucks can buy a lot of junk food.”

“Oh my gosh,” says Santiago, “that’s so against the rules it isn’t even funny… it really worked?”

Jake nods, jogging down the stairs. “Moral of the story: No one at the precinct gives a crap about anything.”

“Also you’re bad at surprises,” Santiago teases, and Jake spins around, a sudden thought occurring to him.

“You’re going to act surprised, right?”

“Hmm…” Santiago pretends to think about it¸ looking like she’s enjoying his minor panic a little bit too much before dissolving into laughter. “Duh, Peralta. It’s nice of them to do this.”

He tilts his head, meeting her gaze innocently. “Them?”

“Fine. And you.” She’s still joking around, but there’s something sincere in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no big deal.” Jake shrugs off her thanks, holding open the door for her to walk through. “Happy anniversary.” She brushes past him, and maybe she can tell that he’s trying to avoid delving into any kind of emotional territory, because she offers him a way out.

“Here’s hoping that one of us gets transferred soon?” It doesn’t exactly feel like a current suggestion anymore, more like a callback to an old inside joke. Jake seizes the out nonetheless.

“I’ll drink to that.”

And, side by side, they walk down the sidewalk toward the bar.

+++++

“I cannot _believe_ that you volunteered us for this stakeout.” Jake tugs at the strings of his hoodie, wishing he’d thought to bring a blanket and pillow.

 Santiago, without looking away from the building across the street that they’re supposed to be running surveillance on, retorts, “What’s so bad about it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that we now have to spend the night in this crappy department car in sub-zero weather. There aren’t even any snacks!”

“Don’t be a baby.” Santiago chastises. “You’re the one who ate all of the gummy bears before we left the parking lot.”

Jake, in the absence of any good comebacks, makes a grotesque face and enjoys watching Santiago scoff in annoyance. He settles back into his worn leather seat, joining her in staring at the warehouse where, according to recent chatter, massive amounts of drugs are being pushed at night. He wishes, not for the first time, that dealers would take into consideration the poor cops that need to arrest them – it wouldn’t kill them to save the new drug-related enterprises ‘til summer, would it?

Jake glances at Santiago, who’s still staring at the building determinedly (she hasn’t looked away all night). He frowns. No one is ever this gung-ho about stakeouts. They’re like… the broccoli of police work. Necessary, but inhumanely and consistently boring.

“Hey, rookie.” He says, a new thought occurring to him.

“Don’t call me rookie.” Santiago says in the supremely bored voice of someone who’s had the same argument too many times to count. She pauses, but the curiosity gets the better of her. “What is it?”

“Is this your first stakeout?”

“What?” She answers too quickly. “No, of course not.”

“Oh my god,” Jake smiles hugely. “It is, isn’t it? We’re on your first stakeout.” Santiago, who has gone bright red by now, sinks into her seat, covering her face with her hands.

“Shut up.”

“You should have told me,” Jake chastises, “I would’ve brought like, a cupcake or a commemorative picture frame or something to celebrate.”

“Yeah, right.”

“What else don’t I know about you?” Jake muses teasingly, leaning on the glove box in between their seats. “You definitely have some really dark, hidden secrets. I’m thinking either…” He stares at her contemplatively, almost studiously, before lifting a finger in an ‘aha!’ gesture. “Perverse sexual fantasies or you literally killed a man.” Santiago is still staring at the building, but she smiles like he said something to amuse her.

“You don’t know a thing about me, dark or otherwise.”

“So tell me.” Jake says, forgetting to joke around; something in the way he speaks must sound sincere enough catch Santiago’s attention because she looks away from the target for the first time and meets his eyes. She stares at him appraisingly for a few moments, like she’s deciding whether or not to believe him. He must pass whatever test she’s giving, because she drops his gaze and tucks her feet up on the seat next to her.

“You first.” She watches, waiting patiently, and Jake thinks.

“Okay, uh… Once I accidentally pepper sprayed an old lady and I blamed it on Boyle.”

“Doesn’t count.” Santiago shakes her head. “Not personal enough.”

Jake feigns offense. “I offer you cupcakes and a hilarious story, and it’s still not enough? Hurtful.”

Santiago shrugs wryly. “I’d prefer a new hole puncher.”

(She’s definitely bluffing. There’s no way she could know that that was him.)

Sighing, Jake concedes, casting about in his mind for something to share. “Okay. I was raised by my mom.” His partner raises an eyebrow, so he clarifies with a practiced nonchalance. “Dad left when I was little. We haven’t spoken since. Your turn.”

Santiago looks like she wants to ask a question, but thinks better of it and, after a moment’s thought, says, “I have seven brothers.”

“Holy crap.” Jake stares. “That explains _so much_.” A beat. “All older?”

Santiago nods. “And all determined to protect their sweet baby sister, at least until she kicked their asses on the shooting range.” She smiles, still proud of some long ago memory, and Jake gives an appreciative grin.

“Nice. Me next?”

“Go.”

“Okay, I…” He shrugs, and goes with the first thing that enters his mind. “I’ve seen Die Hard over forty times. Now you.”

Santiago bites her lip, like she’s daring herself to speak. “You’re not allowed to laugh.”

Jake rolls his eyes, holding his hand up in a lazy approximation of a scout’s promise. When Santiago finally does speak, it’s in a whisper, as if she’s worried that someone is listening. “I cheated when they tested us on police codes at the academy.”

Jake presses his lips together, stifling a laugh. “Seriously? Don’t you read flashcards for fun?”

“I panicked!”

“Tell me about it, rookie.” Jake teases, and remembers what they were talking about before. “Hey, is this really your first stakeout?”

Santiago shakes her head. “Nuh uh – it’s your turn.”

“Fine,” Jake says impatiently. “I became a cop because I wanted to do something good. Is this really your first stakeout?”

“Ugh, fine. Yes it is.” Santiago finally admits, glancing toward the building to avoid looking him in the eye. “I mean, I’ve run surveillance before, duh, but never officially on a stakeout, and never as a detective.”

“I remember my first stakeout,” Jake reminisces fondly. “Sarge had his improvisational jazz CD on repeat for the entire five hours.”

Santiago winces sympathetically. “Ouch.”

“Tell me about it. I’m pretty sure my ears were literally bleeding by the end of it.” Jake watches for her reaction, and when she smiles, he does too. He expects her to say another fact about herself, but she just tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and looks back at the building. She’s fidgeting with the sleeves of her shirt, which Jake knows means that she’s thinking. He lets her.

“Did you actually become a cop because you wanted to do something good?” She asks, and Jake shifts his weight awkwardly. There’s a moment that he’s sure is tangible to her as well as to him, where he considers making something up and brushing it off as a joke.

And then he doesn’t.

“Yeah.” He says sincerely. “Guess I read too many superhero comics as a kid. Kind of developed a hero complex. Thought that it’d be nice to… I don’t know, save people.” Instinctively shying away from the conversation – because the last thing he needs is to spill his guts to Amy Santiago – Jake shrugs, and adds, “Also, chicks dig men in uniform.”

Santiago, who’s been listening attentively the whole time, scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

“Of course,” Jake agrees, but she’s still fidgeting so he pokes her elbow insistently. “What?”

“It’s just… it’s weird.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, not _you’re_ weird,” Santiago hastens to correct him, “It’s weird that you have a reason. I mean, obviously everyone does, but yours is a good one. A noble one, even. And that’s not what I would have expected. Hence… weird.” She finishes rather lamely, and for a minute, neither speaks. Jake thinks he gets what she’s saying, mostly. He also gets that this isn’t the kind of thing that he’s supposed to respond to, so instead of saying anything, he grabs for the dial at the side of his seat.

“Check it out,” he says, pulling his seat into a reclined position and looking up at her with a wide grin, folding his hands behind his head like he’s at the beach. “Instant stakeout upgrade.”

“Instant increase in unprofessionalism.” Santiago corrects sternly, falling back into their usual back-and-forth with a grateful, if disapproving look.

“You’re still considering, it though.”

 She holds out for about five minutes before giving in and lowering her seat into the same position. He watches as she settles in, staring up at the car’s roof and front window that are just beginning to frost at the edges.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll admit it. This is an upgrade.”

“Knew it.” Jake crows triumphantly. “Point to Peralta.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Santiago stretches out as much as she can in her seat as Jake looks out the window with a contented sigh.

“Your turn?” He says, and Santiago nods.

“I like knitting scarves.”

“Lame. I own every Taylor Swift album.”

“Super lame. I… okay, got one: I once met the Prime Minister of Canada.”

“How does that even happen?” Jake questions incredulously with a small laugh. Santiago shrugs, and he chortles into seriousness. “Alright, here’s a good one. My grandma calls me pineapples.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in then, all at once, Santiago bursts into laughter. It’s exactly the same as the first night they’d met, like every cheesy movie metaphor all rolled up in one; he doesn’t want her to stop. (He immediately pushes that thought right to the back of his mind because he’s not even alright with liking her as a person, let alone anything else.)

“Pineapples,” she repeats, trying and failing to contain her laughter. “How does _that_ even happen?”

Now laughing as well at the sight of her, Jake shakes his head. “No way. You don’t need to know that.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Nope.”

She gives an exaggerated pout, still shaking with laughter. “Please?”

“Never.” Jake says resolutely, with a valiant effort at sternness. “At the very least, not until we’ve been partners for ten years. Maybe eleven.”

And she’s still giggling brightly, but, a moment after he speaks, Jake realizes what he’s said. Then, even more shockingly, he realizes that he doesn’t have a problem with it.

(and it’s always strange, realizing that he’s gotten used to someone’s presence – like, somehow, without his knowledge or permission, they’ve become a part of his life; like one second they weren’t there and now they are and that’s the way it’s always been)

(by ‘they’, of course, he means her)

“Hey.” Santiago pokes his arm and, startled out of his thoughts, Jake turns to face her. She’s turned in her seat to look at him; the barest trace of a smile on her face, illuminated by the streetlights outside. She wavers under the intensity of his gaze. “What?”

“I don’t hate you.” He says, and their eyes meet for the briefest of moments before both look away, staring out of the window and at the car door and basically anywhere but at each other, like he’s just said something ground-shattering.

“I know.” Santiago says quietly, almost like she’s surprised.

(And who knows? Maybe he has.)

+++++

“I don’t hate you either, by the way,” she says a while later. Jake smiles.

“Yeah. I know.”

+++++

Somehow, without actually discussing it, they stop making plans to get split up.

Admittedly, there is a moment where Jake seriously considers ditching Santiago in a room full of violent crack addicts.

But he doesn’t.

(He realizes that this isn’t as big of a step forward as he’d like to think, but it feels like it.)

+++++

“What’s going on with you two?” Diaz asks one day, as Santiago brings the guy they just brought in for soliciting to the holding cell. Jake watches her, not meeting Rosa’s eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Are things good now? No more bizarre plans?”

Jake waits a second, but nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, things are good.”

And they are – better, he thinks, than any time before.

So, predictably, this is when things go horribly wrong.

+++++

It happens one morning, entirely out of the blue.

“Mornin’, partner.” Jake drops into his chair, spinning in it as he does so. “You get the email from the union?”

He spins the chair back to face Santiago, who completely and utterly ignores him, staring determinedly at the open case file in front of her and tapping her pen against her desk.

“Or not.” Jake says, not noticing anything strange about her behavior. She probably just hasn’t had her coffee yet. “Well, spoiler alert, I’m going to tell you what was in it.”

She still doesn’t respond, not giving even the slightest hint that his words are registering with her. Jake continues determinedly, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

“You’re probably the one who was behind this whole thing, but they’re petitioning for more office supplies to be provided to detectives so we don’t have to bring our own stuff. I don’t know if that includes hole punchers, but – you’re getting up. Why are you getting up?”

He watches as Santiago rises from her seat, grabbing her case and moving to leave, all without even a single word. She’s never this good at ignoring him, especially not when he mentions office supplies.

“You okay, rookie?”

No response.

He frowns up at her and grabs the strap of her bag, stopping her in her tracks. “Santiago.”

She finally meets his eyes, and Jake recoils instinctively at the anger he sees.

“Get off, Peralta.” She yanks at the strap that he holds, and he lets go obligingly, too stunned to protest.

“What’s going on, Santiago?”

She laughs, a cold, mirthless sound. “Funny, Peralta. Very funny.”

Taken aback, Jake holds his hands up defensively. “I don’t know what your problem is, rookie, but-”

“Stop with the nicknames,” she says. “Just… stop.”

Jake stands up, bringing himself to her height so he can look her in the eye. “Did I do something bad that I don’t know about? Because if this is about the broken hole puncher, there is absolutely no proof that that was me.” He means it as a joke, but Santiago scoffs bitterly.

“Of course there isn’t.” She stares at him for a long moment, fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles are white. “You could have told me, you know. Instead of… this.” She gestures limply at him, and Jake just stands there, utterly bemused.

“You’re acting so weird right now. Blink twice if an alien is inside your body and we need to go on a heroic partner quest to save you.”

“I’m not your partner, Peralta. Not anymore.”

“I…” He pauses, shocked, and for one long second actually thinks that the alien thing is true. “What? Wait, what happened? What’s going on?”

“Your request went through,” Santiago explains shortly. “I got the email this morning. Thanks for the heads up, by the way.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jake says, shaking his head determinedly, grateful to finally have some idea of what the hell is going on. “You don’t understand, Santiago, I turned in that form weeks ago.”

“Oh, please,” Santiago says, and she’d sound perfectly scathing if her voice didn’t waver. “It was processed yesterday, Peralta.”

“No, it really, really wasn’t.” Jake insists. “You think I would’ve requested a partner change yesterday?”

“You did, though, didn’t you? The captain signed and dated the form. I’m not stupid.” And damn McGinley and his ridiculously slow processing of paperwork, _damn_ it.

“That was before we became- before things changed.” He’d nearly said friends, but stopped himself before the word could come out; something told him she wouldn’t appreciate it right now.

Santiago is shaking her head slowly, staring at him as if she’s never seen him before. “Nothing has changed. Not really.”

There are a million different things that Jake could and should say right now. Of course, he says none of them; at least, nothing except for, “Santiago, wait-”

She ignores him and walks away, and Jake is left standing beside her desk, alone and unsure how exactly he’s managed to go from cruising altitude to rock bottom in the space of two minutes.

Scully and Hitchcock walk past, and shoot him identical scathing glares.

“Thanks a lot, _Jerk_ Peralta,” says Scully, “now Hitchcock and I are split up because you just couldn’t handle working without me.”

“I’m sorry, _what?_ ” Jake demands, blinking and trying to still his mind enough to process whatever the hell this is.

“We got reassigned,” says Hitchcock. “Now Scully’s your partner instead of mine. Looks like you got what you wanted.”

Jake wonders, somewhere in the part of his brain that isn’t frozen in horror, if there’s anything below rock bottom.

Judging by his situation right now, he’s willing to hazard a guess that there is.

+++++

After that, things suck, basically.

Not only is Santiago refusing to speak to him, but Scully and Hitchcock, poster children for separation anxiety, are furious with him for breaking up their codependent partnership/shared existence. He never would’ve believed that there’s anything worse than a half hour car ride with a pissed-off Santiago, but, as he discovers after a half hour car ride with Scully and a bean burrito, there so totally are. (He’s pretty sure he’ll have to fumigate his car.)

Rosa calls him a coward, and Terry just looks horribly disappointed. Only Boyle is acting normal, but even that is probably because he still has a grudge against Santiago for eating cold pizza. Jake doesn’t care. He’ll take what he can get, at this point.

Then he walks into the break room and Santiago immediately stands up and heads for the door. Jake sighs.

“Santiago, can we just-”

She shoves past him without a word, and, still in the doorway, Jake looks around the room imploringly. No one meets his eyes.

“Come on, Rosa, someone, give me something.”

Rosa just shakes her head, getting up from her seat to return to her desk. “Let it go, Peralta.”

“Oh, come on!” Jake protests, calling after her, “You guys can’t stay mad at me forever!”

He gives it a week, tops.

+++++

And, Jake realizes two weeks later when he’s still being given the silent treatment, he really needs to stop saying that.

“What am I going to do, Charles?” He gulps down his drink miserably, turning to look at Boyle in the seat next to him. “Santiago hates me, Scully and Hitchcock literally tried to drop an air conditioner on me today, and Terry and Diaz think I’m a jerk. Which I totally am. I suck.”

“It’s good that you accept that,” says Boyle, which probably doesn’t sound as supportive out loud as it did in his head. “Now you can start to make things right.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

Boyle shrugs. “Figure out when the problem started, and go from there.”

And there it is – an idea.

+++++

She’s halfway out of the front doors of the precinct when Jake crashes into her.

“Peralta, what the hell?” She scolds, grabbing the doorframe to steady herself. She sounds like she’s inches away from kicking his ass, but it’s the first time she’s spoken to him in forever and Jake can’t help but smile.

“Sorry,” he says, “I wanted to get here before you left.”

“Well,” Santiago says drily, “Guess you were too late.” She moves to walk away, but Jake steps in front of her.

“Amy,” he says, “Santiago, please.”

She stares at him, and Jake can see that his use of her first name has caught her off guard. There’s a long second where he’s ninety-nine percent certain that she’s going to pepper spray him, but then she sighs. “What is it?”

Jake holds out the cupcake patterned gift bag in his hand. “Sorry about the bag,” he says as Santiago takes it from him, “It was either this or a Christmas one.”

“For me?” She asks, and Jake nods.

“Open it.”

“Jake-”

“Please.”

Looking remarkably confused, she reaches inside, past the untidy tissue paper, and pulls out- “A hole puncher.” She says, then meets his eyes. “A hole puncher?”

“Figured that on the list of stuff to apologize for, this probably came first.”

Santiago’s eyes light up, and, anger temporarily forgotten, she snaps her fingers triumphantly. “So it _was_ you!”

“I admit nothing,” Jake says. “Also, I, uh,” he hesitates, “I didn’t know if it was the right model, so I just asked the nerdiest person I saw which one was best. I’m pretty sure it also functions as a stapler, a paper cutter, and a small country.”

The corners of Santiago’s lips twitch upwards, but she shakes her head. “I’m not interested.”

“Hi Not Interested,” Jake says. “I’m Jake. Jake Peralta.” He gives a small wave, and Santiago stares at him skeptically, recognizing the words from the first time they’d met.

“What’re you doing, Peralta?”

“Starting over.” Santiago still looks confused, so he explains, “I figure that if I hadn’t been an idiot from the moment we met, none of this would have happened. Because when we’re not fighting, this-” He gestures between the two of them. “-is actually a really good thing, and I don’t want to lose it. So… starting over.” He finishes somewhat pathetically, and Santiago stares at him with the tiniest hint of humour in her eyes.

“If you’re trying to apologize, you’re kind of doing a terrible job.”

 “Look, I was a jerk, okay? I’m used to being the one to make the big arrests, and you caught me off guard.”

“And you broke my hole puncher. Don’t forget the hole puncher.” Jake looks at her, ready to apologize again, but this time she smiles like she’s giving him permission and just like that he knows that things are okay again.

“What I’m trying to say, smartass, is that I haven’t been a good partner, and starting now, that’ll change. You’re a good cop, and you deserve that.” He pauses. “Also, I’m pretty sure that Hitchcock and Scully are going to snap and kill someone if we don’t let them work together again.”

She looks at him, still wary, but now she’s smiling and he senses something warmer in her gaze. “Well… thank you. And, for the record, I’ll try harder to loosen up.” She seems to have to force the words out, and it is only with great difficulty that Jake refrains from saying ‘title of your sex tape’. (They aren’t quite there yet.)

(He gives it a week.)

“I look forward to it.” He holds out his hand ceremoniously. “Welcome to the Nine-Nine, detective.”

Meeting his eyes, Amy reaches out and shakes his hand, and they exchange a tentative smile.

And he has the strangest feeling that this might just work out after all.

**Author's Note:**

> i made an accompanying mix for this here: http://8tracks.com/impossible-girl/one-two-three-four


End file.
